by Alan Elsner
Delphine stared into his eyes. “It wasn’t a game to me. My parents died in that accident.”
If she thought that would shock him, she was mistaken. He sat up straighter and rubbed his hands, apparently relishing the exchange. “Ah, now I see. But surely you don’t hold me personally responsible?”
“I just wanted to know if you remembered.”
“Young lady, what happened to you proves my point. Instead of being coddled by a large cash handout which you did not earn and did nothing to deserve, you were inspired with the burning ambition to succeed. As a result, you can take pride in the fact that everything you have achieved was solely due to your own efforts. And now you are truly looking at the chance of a lifetime. One might almost view your mishap as a blessing in disguise.”
Mishap? Delphine could have wrung his scraggy chicken’s neck.
“So what do you say?” Dayton asked.
Delphine looked at their intense faces and realized she could not say no. Refusal would be regarded as the ultimate betrayal—and then, heaven protect her. This way, she could at least buy herself some safety for a time. She nodded her agreement.
“Wonderful, wonderful,” Secretary Dayton gushed, dabbing her eyes with a tissue although as far as Delphine could see they were dry. “What a happy, happy family we’ll be!” The three of them came together for an awkward, triangular hug. Delphine had pasted a fake smile on her face and left it there for the rest of the evening until her cheeks ached. There followed an excruciating champagne toast and another round of hugs. Inside, Delphine felt completely empty. Finally, she was able to plead fatigue and Schuyler summoned his limo to take her home where Jason was waiting.
“How was it?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“So what happened?”
“We ate a poorly-prepared meal and then I came home.” Delphine couldn’t bear to tell him what she’d agreed to. She felt ashamed, humiliated, even violated.
For want of a better idea, Delphine returned to work next morning as if everything were normal. She attended the noon press briefing at the State Department and filed a couple of stories. Everyone was getting excited about the upcoming peace conference. The Israeli and Palestinians leaders were both catching political heat from opponents for agreeing to attend, but both were so far standing firm. King Marwan of Jordan was coming; President Bashir of Syria was sending his foreign minister, who might soon have the opportunity to spurn Prime Minister Shoresh’s hand.
That evening, Delphine was summoned again to the French embassy. “So, what chance of success does she have, your Madam Secretary?” Ambassador de Courcy asked.
“What do your people think?” Delphine countered.
“Perhaps she’ll get a deal of some kind – but a lasting Middle East peace? Of that we’re considerably more skeptical.”
“I agree. But I don’t think she’s looking long-term. Her aims are more immediate. Number one if to get a great photo op of a peace signing ceremony on the White House lawn,” Delphine said.
In the days that followed, Delphine did not hear directly from Secretary Dayton, who was working almost around the clock preparing for the peace conference. Her face was continually on TV getting the kind of exposure few politicians ever achieve. Commentators increasingly spoke of her as a kind of diplomatic wizard. “If she pulls this off, Julia Dayton will become the most consequential Secretary of State this country has had since World War II,” the New York Times declared. “And after that, the sky’s the limit.”
Shoresh and al-Bakr arrived in Washington under an unprecedented security lock-down. Ministers and dignitaries from around the world also arrived to witness the event and give it their blessing. Delphine was kept busy rushing from one briefing to the next, working from early morning until late in the evening, leaving her little time to think about the adoption. When she did, the whole evening at the mansion seemed surreal as if she’d dreamt it. Jason spent most nights at her place but he was usually asleep by the time she returned home. He’d half wake up, mutter a few words and fall back asleep.
Professionally, it was a good week for Delphine. By this time, everyone knew she was Secretary Dayton’s favorite reporter which helped her nab interviews with the foreign ministers of Israel and Jordan and the Palestinian deputy president. One day, a reporter from the Washington Post Style Section called for an interview. She’d been assigned to write a profile about the “chic French chick” covering State. Delphine turned her down but it occurred to her this could be the shape of things to come. With the Post on her trail, could Vanity Fair and Cosmopolitan be far behind? And after she became ‘First Daughter, she’d be like America’s version of Princess Di.
Two days before the peace conference began, Dayton couriered over some adoption forms for Delphine to sign. She carried them around in her pocketbook for a day – but there was no choice. She had to sign them. If she didn’t, Dayton would start getting suspicious. However a plan was beginning to form in her head. It was probably a longshot, but it was all she could think of. Delphine waited for the right opportunity to tell Jason about it. Without his help, it wouldn’t work.
The formal, open part of the peace conference only lasted a day and ended, as the Secretary had intended, with a dramatic announcement that intense, nonstop, face-to-face negotiations between the leaders of Israel and Palestine would begin immediately at the Wye Plantation. The aim: a comprehensive final peace treaty.
As the talks began, a tense silence descended on Washington. The fate, not only of the Middle East but also possibly the next American presidential election, was being decided. Delphine felt her own future also hanging by a thread and prayed for the talks to fail although she knew it was selfish and callous to do so. Without a peace agreement, Secretary Dayton’s presidential bid would be stuck on the launching pad and she wouldn’t need an adopted daughter.
The parties declared a news blackout—and actually kept to it. After a break for the Muslim and Jewish days of rest, the talks went into a second and then a third week. Delphine heard nothing from Secretary Dayton—but she knew it was only a matter of time.
Jason had officially left the State Department security service and was looking for a job. Meanwhile, he’d worked a few shifts as a substitute at Schuyler’s mansion. He said the job was boring and mostly consisted of watching a bank of video screens all day and checking the occasional visitor into the mansion.
“What does Schuyler do all day?” Delphine asked one evening after they’d shared a rare dinner together.
“He’s mostly in his ridiculous office. You know about that?”
“The Nixon White House, yes.”
“He’s on the phone a lot or dictating to his assistant. He reads documents, watches the market go up and down. Occasionally business types come to visit. The Syrian ambassador came by again yesterday. The only time Schuyler’s actually left in the past week was to visit his art dealer in Philadelphia.”
“How much freedom do you have to move around the house?”
“I stay in the control room. Why do you ask?”
“Just thinking aloud.”
“Bullshit. That’s not the way you operate. You have some kind of plan. Spit it out,” Jason said.
“Well, since you ask, I did have one obvious thought.”
“Go on.”
“The way I see it, the best way of derailing Secretary Dayton’s presidential bid would be develop evidence linking her to one of the murders.”
“Chances of that seem slim to none.
“That’s true for Erik and Don since they were killed overseas. But not for Andrew and Stewart. In their case, we have an important lead. We know the identity of the truck driver—Buck Cooter. Who could forget a name like that?”
“Aren’t the police calling it an accident?”
“Involving one of Schuyler’s trucks? Too big a coincidence. Someone h
ad to have hired this Cooter and given him his orders. Deliberately forcing another vehicle off a busy highway isn’t easy. It required timing and coordination to put the assassin on the exact same stretch of road at the exact same time as his targets. We also have to assume he was well-paid because he’ll probably never work as a commercial driver again. Where did the money come from? How was it paid? Who handed it over? What did he do with it?”
“All good questions. How do you intend to get answers?”
“Ask Cooter.”
Jason smacked his head. “Why didn’t I think of that? He’d certainly confess to murder if you asked with that sweet French accent of yours.”
“How about if one of us flashed an FBI badge in his face? That might persuade him to talk.”
Jason stared at her. “Where are we going to get an FBI badge?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not to me,” Jason said, choosing to be deliberately obtuse.
“If I’m not mistaken, your brother’s an agent.” This was the crux of Delphine’s new scheme. Everything depended on getting Jason to play along.
“But he’s not going to get involved in this.”
“Maybe you could borrow his ID card one evening when he’s not using it,” Delphine said, as if she’d just thought of it. “The two of you are twins.”
Jason snorted. “Nice one.”
“What’s funny?” You are, or you would be if you weren’t so crazy. I never heard such a ridiculous idea.”
“Why ridiculous?”
“What if I were discovered? Then Craig and I would both be in deep shit. Don’t you know that impersonating a federal agent is a felony. I could go to jail for years.”
“Why should you be discovered?”
“Easy for you to say. It’s not your neck on the chopping block.”
“Well, think about it at least.’
“I have thought about it – and I’m telling you to forget it.”
Delphine could not forget it. Next day, she tracked Cooter down from court records. He was listed as residing in a trailer park in Thurmont, Maryland, near Camp David, about an hour north of the city. But she did not act on this information. Without Jason’s help, she didn’t feel confident enough to drive out there to confront the driver.
Those days, Delphine was toying with all kinds of crazy ideas. What if she got herself invited back to Schuyler’s mansion and used the opportunity to smuggle a listening device into his ‘Oval Office’? No, too risky as well as unlawful. What about asking Jason to plant a bug? No, he wouldn’t agree. So in the end she did nothing.
A few days later, the peace talks broke up. TV cameras posted outside the Wye Plantation caught a line of official limos heading in the direction of Washington. For an agonizing hour, it was unclear whether the negotiations had succeeded. Every reporter on the foreign policy beat in Washington was working the phones, calling all the sources they had. Delphine had been trying for half an hour to get through to Bridget on her cell when the spokesperson called her.
“Madam Secretary wanted to give you a heads up,” she said. “We’re on the Bay Bridge right now. We should be back in town within the hour when we’ll issue a brief statement. It will say there’s going to be a joint press conference at the State Department at four this afternoon.”
“That’s all she said?”
“Yes.”
“Will Shoresh and al-Bakr sit side-by-side with Secretary Dayton, all three of them together?” Delphine asked.
“Let me ask if I can give you that information.”
A pause. Then, “Yes, all three together.”
“That means they succeeded. They’d hardly bother having a joint press conference to announce a failure.”
Bridget hesitated again. “I can’t be quoted by name. But on deep, deep background, if you wrote that, you wouldn’t be incorrect.”
Even at such a moment, or especially at such a moment, Delphine had to do her job. She called Jean-Luc in the bureau and dictated a bulletin: ‘Mideast negotiations succeed; leaders to announce details at joint news conference.’
“You sure about this?” he asked.
“I’m sure.”
“Because if you’re wrong, there’ll be hell to pay. Every financial market in the world is going to jump on this news. You’re playing with trillions of dollars. Your job is on the line here. Mine too.”
“Just send the bulletin. If I’m wrong, you’ll have my resignation letter on your desk within half an hour.”
As soon as the news flash hit the wire, the New York stock exchange shot up by 450 points, the dollar strengthened and oil prices fell. Once again, Delphine had beaten the competition with a big scoop, her biggest yet, but she took no pleasure in her success. Secretary Dayton’s plan was moving full speed ahead while Delphine’s own efforts to stop her had made no progress at all.
No-one who attended the historic press conference that afternoon would ever forget it. The leaders, clearly delighted and somewhat amazed at what they had achieved, announced a tentative accord. They had compromised on all the major issues. Israel would remove nearly all of its settlements but keep control of most of Jerusalem. The Palestinians would be granted a foothold in the Holy City, which would become the capital of their new state, and they’d also get a big injection of economic aid. Palestinian refugees would receive compensation and the option to settle in the new Palestinian homeland. It was exactly the deal Secretary Dayton had laid out for Delphine weeks earlier in Schuyler’s library. The leaders’ next step would be to return home to seek approval from the Israeli and Palestinian parliaments. Then, they would return to sign the treaty on the White House lawn.
Delphine was busy filing stories late into the night and all the next day. After that, the action switched to Jerusalem and Ramallah and things quieted down in Washington while the Israelis and Palestinians debated the treaty.
The day after the agreement was announced, Devon Dawson called from New York. “This peace deal is great news for your book. Our top guys here are mega-excited. Could you get me the first chapter by the end of next week? That will give the marketing guys something to work with.”
Delphine said she’d try – but couldn’t bring herself to start.
Next morning, she was summoned once again to the Secretary of State’s office. Dayton obviously hadn’t slept much for the past three weeks. There were deep shadows under her red-rimmed eyes – but she was in buoyant spirits.
“You see, it’s all coming out the way I said it would,” she said, welcoming Delphine with a bony hug.
“It’s a magnificent achievement, a historic achievement,” Delphine said, knowing Dayton both loved and expected such flattery. “Do you foresee any problems in the Israeli or Palestinian parliaments?”
“There’ll be opposition of course—tumultuous debates, passionate speeches, dire warnings about what may happen – but in the end they’ll both approve the deal. What choice do they have? By this time next week, we should be ready for the signing.”
“And your wedding is the week after.”
“Yes, I must find time to try on the gown. Lucky for me, the planner is making all the other arrangements. But before that, we’ll have our adoption ceremony. I want you to be my official daughter by the time I get married so you can stand beside me as my maid of honor. That would mean a lot to me.”
Delphine felt as though she’d swallowed a large fish bone. “Are you sure?”
“Of course. You must be there. I’ve dreamed about having a daughter by my side on such a happy day and the pictures will look wonderful. The planner has already picked out your dress. All she needs is your measurements. One day, when you finally get over that horrible Jason King and find the right man to marry, I’ll do the same for you.”
Delphine sucked her lips in and stayed silent.
“So about the adopti
on, my assistant’s been in touch with the D.C. Family Court. How does the Thursday after next suit you? Around three in the afternoon. Bring a witness – a friend, a neighbor, someone who knows you. Not King. I’ll also invite Ambassador de Courcy. It seemed appropriate.”
“So soon?” Delphine gulped.
“It’s just a formality. I was thinking that we’ll keep the ceremony at the court house private, no press, no publicity. After that, we’ll go out for a lovely meal to celebrate. Have you ever been to the Inn at Little Washington?” Dayton asked, naming a Virginia restaurant about an hour from the city known for its gourmet cooking and incredibly high prices.
Delphine shook her head.
“Let’s go there then. I’ll have my assistant make a reservation. As for how we release the news, I have to figure out the best way. Perhaps we can make an appearance together on Oprah or a do joint interview with Barbara Walters. I’ll ask Elton what he thinks. The watchword must be dignity. No one should be left with the impression I’m doing this for political purposes.”
“Of course not.”
“I’ll bring Bridget Daly as my witness. Elton can’t be there that day. He has to make a business trip to Japan but he sends his apologies and hopes you will forgive him.”
Delphine shrugged. What difference did it make who was or wasn’t there?”
“And on Sunday we’ll go to church together. That will make a lovely picture for the networks and the Monday papers. And then, the following weekend, we’ll find a synagogue we can attend. You see, it’s best of all worlds. Isn’t this exciting?”
“Isn’t it.”
“You don’t sound sure, child.”
Delphine made an effort to sound excited. “It’s because I’m overwhelmed. I can’t believe it. Is it really happening?”
“It really is. I can hardly wait.”
“I’ll be able to keep my own apartment, won’t I? You surely don’t expect me to move in with you, do you?”
